


Anchored

by UlisaBarbic



Series: Durin's Line Endures [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Durin Family, Durin Family Feels, During The Hobbit, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Good Uncle Thorin, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Post-Battle, Uncle Thorin, Uncle-Nephew Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-06-05 15:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15173429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlisaBarbic/pseuds/UlisaBarbic
Summary: A missing scene from The Hobbit (Jackson Movies) where the aftermath of the first battle with Azog comes to a climax while the company stays with Beorn. Thorin has been playing Leader and King for the entire journey but he sometimes forgets that Kili and Fili need him to be an uncle too...and that some things cut deeper among family.





	1. Chapter 1

Anchored

**_The Hobbit_ ** _characters are not mine but are owned by JRR Tolkien. I base my stories off a mixture of the movies and book canon._

                “Kili?”

                The dark haired dwarf waved his brother off as he stood, leaving the remaining group around the fire in Beorn’s main room. It would have been impossible to miss the tension etched in the youngest member’s features ever since their rescue by the eagles but it was odder still for him to refuse his brother’s company. By all accounts, he should have been attached to his brother’s side, as he usually was. Bilbo found it quite out of character. After the narrow escape they had, he certainly would have no shame in clinging to those around him, as much as he was able! Given how close the brothers were and indeed, how close Dwarven families appeared to be in general, it was a shock to see such company refused.

Yet, Kili appeared to be set on his mission. He grabbed his bow from the floor, tossing it over his left shoulder and just remarked “I need some air,” and went for the door.

Thorin, who had remained silent throughout most of the evening, nursing a mug of ale and occasionally puffing his pipe, kept his eyes on his nephew’s back a moment and then called “You should take someone with you. I don’t entirely trust this Beorn—“ He had lowered his voice out of respect but the malcontent was still quite noticeable in that heavy tone.

“Come, laddie,” Balin interjected “He has shown us no ill will. I’d say taking in a houseful of strangers with as much hospitality as he has should be cause for some appreciation.”

“I can appreciate the gesture without trusting the man,” Thorin countered and called again, “Kili! Take someone with you!”

Then, something happened, that seemed to Bilbo to be the most utterly confounding and potentially stupid stunts he had ever had the pleasure (or misfortune, depending on the moment) of witnessing. The younger dwarf stopped, stood still for a long moment. The chattering around the fire ceased and all eyes were fixated on the exiled King and the youngest heir to Erebor. There was unspoken anxiety in the room as Kili, normally obedient to a fault when given an order (the pony-incident had been a notable exception) made no move to call one of the others to accompany him. He simply paused in step a moment then as if on a cue, whirled around and snarled at his leader, in Khuzdul no less!

“Itkit! Itkit! Itkit! Itkit!”

Dwalin choked on his ale and Bofur almost dropped his bowl of stew. Bombur jerked his head about while Nori, Dori and Ori nearly fell to the ground in unison. Fili, still sitting on the ground, paled and made another attempt to reach for his younger brother but once again but shoved away. The others had simply gone silent, looking back and forth to one another, concern painting all their faces. Bilbo frowned, casting his look on Thorin. He had learned quite a bit about the dwarves on this journey and one thing that was consistent was that whenever they spoke their own language, it was when he was not around. The few times he had stumbled into camp when they had been speaking Khuzdul, they would immediately switch to Westron. Bofur had been kind enough to tell him that it was just something they liked to keep private to themselves. Bilbo could understand that. If there was anything he could understand, it was respecting one’s privacy!

That only made this act all the more troubling though. Bilbo had seen how stern Thorin was on preserving their culture so for Kili to outright break that ban while the hobbit was in the room was shocking. As for the word itself, the hobbit may not know the language but given the sharp tone that Kili snapped it in and the way he nearly wretched the door from its frame on the way out (even young dwarves were freakishly strong) he was willing to guess that it was not anything good. The reaction of all the others, the way they jerked their heads to Thorin, silently gauging his reaction, was another strong indicator.

A fear startled in Bilbo’s heart. Thorin Oakenshield was a truly frightening sight when angered and the sudden thought of that anger turned on Kili made him sick to his stomach. Oh, he had seen the love the Dwarf King held for this group. There was no faking the emotion he saw in the smiles he shared when he thought no one could see. All the same though, dwarves, it appeared, had horrific tempers and while useful in battle, it would be utterly terrifying outside of a war! Standing, he moved to stay Thorin, though how he planned on doing so, he had utterly no idea but the moment he set his eyes on their leader, he froze.

The rage he expected was not there. There was shock, utter bewilderment but not rage. Bilbo had learned quite a bit on his companions throughout the trip. He had learned Bofur never took off his hat, he learned that Bombur always snored the loudest, he’d learned that Kili talked in his sleep and Fili could not stay still to save his life. He had learned that Thorin Oakenshield’s eyes always gave away his heart. Those eyes were shimmering now as Bilbo looked up at them but not with the craze of anger. There was concern and worry painted in those eyes but not anger. How utterly bafflying! Was the word Kili had shouted not what he thought? No, no, he could quickly dismissed that thought. Everyone’s reactions had been proof enough of that. The entire room had frozen in time with that phrase. Yet, Thorin stood with nary a drop of aggression to him.

Reassured, Bilbo backed away but still asked “Thorin?”

The dwarf king seemed to snap out of his gaze with that inquiry. He blinked once, twice before shaking his head, as if coming from a daze. Setting his shoulders straight, he turned to their group “Mind the fire. We can’t afford to lose sleep over cold tonight. We’ll need it for the morn.” Stepping forward with that command, he was caught by the arm as he approached the door by his second sister-son, who was scrambling to his feet as if the floor was made of fire. It was hard to tell if he was trying to pull Thorin down or if the Dwarf warrior was pulling Fili up but either way, the blond haired lad’s arms were all but wrapped around his uncle’s left bicep.

“Thorin,” Fili pleaded “I-I-I can go talk to him. You know I can—“ He began but Thorin gave him a reassuring half-smile.

Nodding, the leader gently lay a hand over Fili’s. “Aye, I know you can but it will do us no good. There is something amiss between me and your brother and only we can fix it, Fili.” He added, in a slightly lower tone, “And I do mean to _talk_, my sister-son. Not yell. Talk.” Bilbo suspected that the latter half was not meant to be heard but he could hardly help it if he had well developed ears. There were unspoken words exchanged between the two of them by sight alone and the golden haired dwarf finally gave a reluctant nod and released his relative who quickly slipped through the doorframe.

Awkward silence reigned a moment before Dwalin, in his typical fashion, took a deep inhale on his pipe and exhaled a ring of smoke with, “Gotta hand it to the lad…balls of brass he has.”

* * *

 

Taking an inhale of the comforting smoke, Kili let out an exhale slowly. He enjoyed a good smoke as much as the next dwarf but he did not engage as much as his brother or the rest of the company. However, he had found that the leaves Bilbo used were quite pleasant. Right now, he just needed to relax. He felt like all his muscles were bunched into sharp diamonds. Heart still racing, he tried to calm his racing thoughts but there was utterly no stopping them. The cool breeze was a bit of a comfort and he found himself shrugging off his outer coat, letting the cold seep into his skin.

He was in deep. He could feel it. What was he thinking? No, that was always the problem with him, wasn’t it? He didn’t think. Yet, he had been trying to push aside that building outburst ever since he had seen his uncle limp and unresponsive in the claw of that eagle. Even after Gandalf had revived him, even after they had climbed down Carrock and been forcefully introduced to Beorn, the feeling had not gone away. It had burned in his stomach and then moved to his heart, his bones, his head. It felt like the entirety of his innards was coated in molten lead.

“Kili.”

Closing his eyes tightly, he did not turn at his leader’s inquiry, just forced another inhale of smoke, much more than he usually did. It burned his lungs actually, to take such a large drag, but he needed something, anything, to close his mouth. The sound of Thorin’s voice normally brought him such comfort but now, after what he’d done, he was sure his uncle was going to half-kill him. More than that though, while he admitted to feeling a touch of fear for what might come from his leader and his king, his stomach was twisting again, like it had been doing when that Khuzdul had poured from his mouth. He was rather pleased with himself that it had not been something cruder.

The crunching of boots on earth, grass and rock scrambled the ground and Thorin lowered himself to sit next to him. There was tightness to his nephew’s posture that was not something the Dwarf King routinely saw. Oddly enough, while he should have likely been discussing the disrespect Kili had offered him, he felt no desire to do so. His heart felt weighed down, heavy as stone. He knew his nephews, knew them better than they knew themselves at times. This was not his Kili. Kili was the tiny dwarfling that would have spat in Mahal’s face if it would have earned him the respect of his uncle. Kili was the young dwarf who never stopped training, even when it became apparent that the ax was not the weapon for him, out of fear of disappointing his king. Kili was the boy that foolishly had charged in face a trio of trolls with nary a clue of how to dispatch them because they threatened a comrade.

This Kili that occupied the patch of earth beside him was stoic, empty and devoid of any conversation. That was far more disheartening than if his nephew had been lying on a bed with a poisoned gash through his belly.

“Kili, talk to me.” He tried to keep his tone even but he was fairly certain that came out more ‘order’ than ‘concerned uncle.’ He’d had to play King and Leader so firmly on this quest that his rather paternal tone had been lost along the way. He sincerely hoped that it was not entirely forgotten. He longed for the time when they had taken Erebor back and where he and his two heirs could once more be family first and kings and princes second. Where battle would be memories of glory days and bravery and not a fear for each night.

The younger dwarf felt his muscles twitch at Thorin’s command. Talk to him…he wanted him to talk? That twisted feeling crept through his bones again and a horrible deep fire burned through his veins. Kili was not a dwarf who angered often, if at all. He had seen his mother angry, his brother angry and his uncle angry as well as nearly every member of the company, but he scarcely felt that sting. Right now though, it raged through him like an unquenchable flame. How dare his uncle act so nonchalant? How dare he speak as though the previous night’s events were just a routine occurrence to be forgotten?! As if to see him fall…to see him…bitten and thrashed, to see those horrible blood stains covering the familiar tunic that Kili and Fili had clung to on so many nights… like…like it was nothing to lose…

The desire to push his fist into the middle of his uncle’s face was exceptionally strong.

He settled for letting the smoke fill his cheeks, turning to look his elder right in the face and let a simple wisp of smoke slip through his lips in his king’s general direction. It was not as satisfying as a punch but the look of hurt on the dwarf’s face did give him some satisfaction. Smoke wouldn’t hurt a dwarf’s eyes, so used to dust and rock that they were, but the symbol of gesture was read without issue. Good. Let the stubborn old dwarf know what it felt like! Let him know what it felt like to be completely dismissed and forgotten about for the sake of your stupid pride…


	2. Chapter 2

The atmosphere of the sitting room had gone cold ever since the departure of Thorin after Kili but there was naught to be done about it. Much as the others wished they could help, Thorin had been right on one account. This was something the leader would need to sort out with their youngest. They would do little but interfere, and among dwarves well known for their difficulty expressing emotion, the less they could hinder it, the better. So, while it hurt to picture what might be said out in the dark, the group forced themselves not to fret about it. So, after selecting an order for watch, they began to prepare for the night.

 Dwalin volunteered to stay awake to take first guard but it was fairly obvious he was waiting to see the outcome of the fiasco and hopefully reign in their leader if need be. While the entire group was loyal to the Durin line, he and his brother Balin had known them the longest and both of them had been involved in helping Thorin and Dis rear Fili and Kili. He couldn’t help but feel a little more involved with this than the others even if there was nothing more he could do about it. There were some things that Dwalin or Balin could sway influence on but they knew from experience that there was nothing they could say or do. They could only wait.

Bilbo was not satisfied with that.

Fili had not moved from his spot by the door, his eyes always on the outside through the tiny cracks in the frame. The hobbit left his bedroll where it was and trotted over to the blond haired dwarf. One leg constantly tapping up and down, Fili was nursing his pipe like it was a lifeline, though he didn’t ever see any smoke coming out. It looked more like he was chewing the end. Anxiety bled off him. Bilbo took a seat next to him and after considering himself a moment, he asked “Has Kili acted that angry before?”

“He’s not angry,” Fili corrected, though he did not turn to look at the hobbit. “Least, not as much as he seems to be. Well, I mean, he IS angry, that was a livid Kili, no doubt.” He sighed and finally let out a deep exhale of smoke toward the door. “But he isn’t…he isn’t trying to wear on Thorin’s nerves or anyone else’s.” Fili found that while Bilbo was quite easy to talk to, he really didn’t know what he was trying to say. “He’s not trying to cause strife.”

Allowing a smile, Bilbo advised “Oh, I’ve known that, Fili.” He said with a gentle pat to the dwarf’s hand, “Neither you or Kili mean to do such things.”

“He’s scared.” Fili clarified, his hands now mimicking his constantly jittering leg as his voice dropped in volume. “He’s been scared since Carrock.” Shifting his eyes finally from the door to meet Bilbo’s, he stated “I thought I had…I thought we had gathered it under control. He was maintaining and we both knew that there would be things on this journey we would not be prepared for. We both knew that. I knew that. So, we talked about it, when the rest of the company slept. We have always leaned on one another and I thought he was coping with it.” He rested his head into his hands. A sense of failure practically shone from him like moonlight.

Bilbo eyed the young dwarf. While technically Fili was older than him chronologically, Bilbo had found that dwarves definitely aged differently. Gloin was always speaking of his ‘wee lad’ whom Kili had said was 15 years his junior. If Gimli was merely a “wee lad” then Kili could not have been much older and thus, Fili could not be much older than that. It was all rather confusing to him. By Hobbit standards, would that mean both these brave lads were barely of age? Eyeing how distressed poor Fili was over not being able to ease his brother’s emotions, he was inclined to believe it. Thinking a moment, the Hobbit asked,

“Fili, what about you?”

Startled a bit, his leg stopped for a moment and he lifted his head “Eh?”

Cocking his head a little, as he did not see what was so confusing about that inquiry, the Halfling explained, “You keep talking about how Kili is scared but what about you?” He hoped his warm smile was comforting, “I know you’re worried about Kili but what about you? If Kili was frightened, certainly you must have been too. After what happened to Thorin with the White Orc.” Bilbo tried and failed to suppress a tremble. That had cut into his own heart, to see Thorin fall and he had just begun to know the dwarf. Fili and Kili on the other hand…well, Bilbo knew that they were his nephews or his “sister-sons” as Thorin referred to them but what kind of relationship that entailed, he truly wasn’t sure.

Ah, there is was. Fili stiffened significantly.

It took a moment but the blond dwarf gathered his wits, “I…I’m alright.” He finally settled on. It was hardly convincing though, even to him.

Sure enough, the curly haired Hobbit folded his arms with a scoff, “No, you’re not. I can’t blame you either. That was a horrible experience!”

“I…I’ve been trained for battle, Bilbo,” Fili argued. “By both Thorin and Dwalin. So has Kili. You, well, pardon me for saying it, but you’re hardly warrior material.” He offered a half smile to the statement, as penance for stating such a rather unflattering judgment but the hobbit hardly seemed bothered. If anything, he just took out his pipe and lit it after a moment.

“Oh, you’re right, I’m not.” Bilbo admitted. “I am surprised that I managed as I well as I did,” he eyed the small sword to his side and then stated, “You and Kili were such a welcomed sight.” He meant that too. When he had attacked, he had gone on nothing but raw emotion and he really had not had a plan on what he would do. He just knew that he could not let Thorin die. It was no surprise that the next dwarves to rally to the cause had been Fili, Kili and Dwalin. The others had followed shortly after but Bilbo had to admit that after the reconciliation on Carrock, he had not given much thought to the aftermath. In his mind, they were all safe and truly that was to be praised but now, seeing Kili and Fili, he suspected they all could have done with processing it a bit more. “There is no shame in being afraid” Bilbo offered reluctantly. After all, what did he know of battle?

All the same, he could not just sit here and watch Fili torment himself.

“I…have learned to cope with fear,” Fili advised. “So, if my brother is in need of comfort, I provide it. I obviously did not do enough.”

Tsking under his breath a moment, the hobbit retorted “Fili, you know I am new to this. None of this is familiar to me.” He smiled “I suspect that I am often more trouble than I am worth but I am grateful for all the guidance you all try to give me.” He lay a hand on the dwarf’s hand until he turned and looked to his face again. “However, I feel on this I can offer some advice.” He took a heavy breath. He certainly did not want to insult the warrior but the way he was acting, the way he was talking, so distracted, “Is it possible that you weren’t able to help your brother as much as you felt you should have because YOU needed some help?”

The dwarf blinked at Bilbo for a long moment during which the hobbit opted to continue.

“In the Shire, we have a saying: you cannot fill your water pitcher if your well is dry.” Bilbo had heard that so many times growing up, often as they lent a hand to the Gamgees or traveled to the market with extra supplies for those struggling with a bad harvest. “It must be hard to provide comfort to your brother if your own heart needs it.” He trailed off. He really didn’t know what else to say. It was apparent that it was not just Kili that needed to speak with their leader. While Thorin had certainly not gone out of his way to treat the boys any different, Bilbo had caught the very subtle signs.

The way Thorin would scoop an extra spoonful or so into their bowls as they passed around meals. The way no one would take the extra blankets Thorin tossed out unless neither Fili or Kili had claimed them. The extra few minutes of sleep Thorin would allow them as the company awoke in the morning. The way the Leader would make his rounds before he retired himself and would always pause, for a few moments, at the sight of Kili and Fili’s slumbering forms. That simple, warm smile that the dwarf king appeared to save only for their youngest members.

“Go talk to him, Fili.” Bilbo said firmly.

The blond dwarf didn’t respond. Much as Bilbo made sense (far too much sense), he couldn’t. He was the elder brother, he was the heir apparent.

He had to be strong, he had to be firm, no matter how the memory made his heart quake.

He could not crumble.

 He would not crumble.

* * *

 

He never would have thought his nephew, either of them, would cast such a disrespectful gesture at him. Thorin remembered distinctly using such a gesture only once in his life, when he was a young and brash dwarf and the swat his father had given his cheek had nearly knocked him witless. Perhaps he should have been angry and even repeating the same action but he found that, much like earlier, he could not feel anger at it. Perhaps if it delivered by a heart heavy with contempt, he may have reacted as such but he knew his youngest sister-son and there had never been such foulness in his heart.

Yet now, there was darkness in Kili’s eyes that Thorin had only seen reflected in his fellow warriors’ eyes or when he occasionally caught Dis in mourning or a glimpse of himself within a lake. It was heaviness, a deep weight that did not belong on such a young dwarf, least of all on carefree Kili. Much as tried to let anger take him for the blatant disrespect, all it did was fill his heart with worry and squeeze it like a vice. He set the younger dwarf with a look, one he had used many times through both his sister-sons’ lives and despite the unfamiliarity of this situation, it carried its same weight.

Kili stared, though just for a moment before he turned from Thorin and let the rest of the smoke out of his lips in the opposite direction. The satisfaction he had felt a minute earlier felt more like shame now and yet his uncle had not even opened his mouth.

“Will you speak with me now?” Thorin’s tone was heavy but the more he focused on the pain he saw in Kili’s body, his face, his entire being, he found the leader tone fading and a more familiar vocal returning. One he had not utilized since before the journey and had been oh so common place for many a year. He had used it for upset dwarflings when they had burnt their hands in the forge, he had used it when hearts were broken by unkind words and he had used it to chase away the shadows of the mind in the dark of night. Now, he found himself using it to try and pry open the mystery that was his youngest heir.

“Speak…” Kili finally responded, his eyes focused on his clenched fists. “You want me to speak?”

“Aye, I’d appreciate knowing what has gotten you so upset, Kili,” he answered truthfully. He had focused so much on this journey to see Kili and Fili as fellow warriors, as fighters in their own right as they had earned that title. They were some of his best soldiers and that was not a title easily won. They did not want his favoritism and he had strived to respect that. They each had seen this journey as chance to prove themselves not only to fellow dwarves, not only to their prime mentor Dwalin but to themselves. So, he had forced his sight to see them as warriors and not as kin.

However, now, sitting here amid the night, watching Kili half hunched over, his shaggy hair framing and hiding his face from view, his hands clenched, how could the Dwarf King see anything but the boy he had helped raise? Mahal as his witness, he wanted nothing more than to sweep that pain away. The temptation to offer any kind of comfort won out and he reached out, gently easing some of his nephew’s hair behind his ear, letting his fingers rest on the sweaty locks for a moment then gently stroking them, from root to tip, rubbing the ends lightly between his thumb and forefinger, as he used to do whenever Kili was upset.

It worked.

Leaping to his feet, Kili turned on his King, his Leader, his uncle, ferocity in his eyes. “How can you just act like nothing happened?!”

Surprised as he was, at least this was progress. Thorin kept his face calm. His sister-sons were quite young and despite their skill in the conflicts they’d been in thus far (he was not about to deny he had smiled brightly at Fili’s sword skills and Kili’s aim) they had much to learn. Kili had always been his emotional and reactive one. It was one thing to know about battle but quite another to experience it. Perhaps he should have put more effort into preparing them? The Dwarf King took a heavy breath but then spoke, his voice deep and level. “Kili, battle is inevitable—“

“No!” Kili protested and it occurred to him for a moment that he likely sounded like a child screaming out a tantrum but he didn’t care. “Yes, I know battle is inevitable, I know we’re going to have to fight. I knew that when I insisted I come but not all battles are! You did not have to march out there to face Azog!” His insistence was sharp and emotion packed. Hands ground into tight fists at his sides, he screeched again “You did not have to face Azog! Gandalf was summoning the eagles! We were going to get away. We could have bought time! You did not have to face him!”

Thorin frowned, deeply. He was not expecting this type of accusation but he did not appreciate what his youngest nephew was implying, “Kili, you are young. You do not understand nor have you endured the battles that I have. Azog has our entire family line on his mind. We are prey to him. He will not hesitate to kill when he gets the chance. I rose to face that challenge.” He stood, though slowly. “When the time comes, I will do so again.” He was intent on making this quite clear. “My stance against him was necessary.”

“No!” Kili snarled again, taking a small step back as his relative stood. “No, it wasn’t! Not that time. I understand we have to deal with him but we should deal with him together, when we have the advantage, not him. You…” He trailed off and his mind was whirling. So many images shooting through his memory. Growing up in the Blue Mountains and rushing to greet his uncle as soon as he returned from the forge. Sneaking into the meetings they had with the other dwarf clans, Fili at his side and clinging to their uncle’s legs as he spoke about their future. Falling asleep before a fire, wrapped in his uncle’s furs to the deep rumbling sound of Thorin’s singing. A very faint image of Thorin pacing with him when he had been deathly ill with fever. Thorin talking about Erebor, talking about what a grand future they would build once the Dragon was dispatched. Telling Fili and him about the halls, the ceremonies, the grand mines beneath the mountain. Hearing his uncle’s grand laugh as they discussed how they would help rule the kingdom and unite all the dwarven kingdoms into one, proclaiming the honor of Durin’s line.

All that could have been erased.

His uncle, half crushed in the mouth of that warg, blood seeping from the wounds like some kind of cursed river. The orc, with the blade to his uncle’s throat.

Kili’s heart had hurt. It had burned. It felt like that orc had driven his blade right through his chest at that very moment and yet he could not move. Every muscle had been still, every vein cold. His mind had pushed so many memories, as it was doing now, through his mind at that moment and he found himself whispering for his uncle in a pitiful, lost tone. It was only Mr. Baggins’ courage that had spared his uncle’s life and that cry had spurred emotion in Kili to make him charge. Charge he had, forgetting the lessons he had been taught, forgetting the strategy, forgetting anything but the raw pain that made him see red.

“You’re an idiot!” Kili shouted suddenly, and was rather surprised that such a statement came out of his mouth. “Your pride isn’t worth your life, Thorin! It’s not!” He felt a bit unnerved as, well, there was likely a better way to have phrased that statement but the truth of it rang true. His uncle accused them of not thinking but he had not thought either. If he had thought, he never would have stalked out there to a death match that by the grace of Mahal he had survived. What if he did it again? Kili did not know if his poor heart could take it. Not again. No, it could not—would not—happen again! “I don’t care what you think, it’s not!”

Okay, _now_ Thorin was angry. Though, on some level, he was rather amused simply because if it weren’t for the lack of beard and breast, he could have sworn it was his sister Dis screaming at him instead of his nephew. Kili was indeed of Durin’s line and it burned bright as flame right now. All the same, this level of disobedience he would not tolerate. Age notwithstanding, Kili knew better and Thorin was not about to let this go unanswered. He meant to make sure his young nephew understood though. He _needed_ to understand.

“As I said before, my sister-son,” Thorin’s tone was level through slightly clenched teeth. “You and your brother know nothing of this world. You are young and naïve. You have learned much on this journey but not enough apparently. Azog’s assault is not just a matter of pride but of principle.” Memories that Thorin preferred to leave buried were surfacing and he truly did not know if he could maintain his calm if it continued. His grandfather…Frerin…Balin’s father…so many lost to the orcs at Azanulbizar. “You were not there, Kili. You have heard the stories but you were not there.” Thorin's tone was dangerously low. "You were not there when I saw our people slaughtered, when my grandfather--your great-grandfather's--head was tossed at my feet. As if we were worth nothing!” Thorin tried to school his tone but as it always happened when such memories rose up, he was right back there again. Seeing the dwarf that helped raise him, upon whose knee he had sat and listened to songs, suddenly cut from his life and then for his own father to vanish amid the chaos. To wander the bodies only to discover the limp body of his only little brother, cold and gone. Thorin had screamed in grief until his voice went hoarse that day. It was only when Dis ran across the battlefield, casting herself from the safety outside the lines, young as she was and flung her arms around him that his heart had stilled in its agony and beat again.

“My duty is to keep our people safe. We are of the line of Durin, father of the dwarven line and a King is father to his people,” Thorin went on, his tone stern but he was maintaining. “Azog slaughtered my grandfather, your uncle Frerin, Balin’s father and countless others. We had to burn the dead that day, Kili. There were so many dead that we could not even give them the honor of returning them to stone.” Thorin caught his voice and steadied it. Kili did not know of these things and he had to remind himself of that. May he never know that kind of pain. The very thought broke Thorin’s heart. No one should know the pain his felt that day. “I will not stand by and let him do it again. I will not lose you or your brother nor one more dwarf to his hand—“

“And we do not want to lose YOU!” Kili screeched, his voice finally cracking though he fought the tears to stay at bay. “You think the same pain that broke you that day was not breaking me and Fili? To see you crushed in that warg's jaws? To see him demand your head?!" The younger dwarf’s voice was strained and he sounded desperate, so desperate and hurting. It was tone that was almost not of mortal making, the kind that one makes when a fear deeper than one’s life has been touched. “What do you think we were thinking? You are our leader, Thorin, our King and we will follow you. But you’re also my uncle! More than my uncle! You may be the Father of our People but you’re also MY father!” Tears erupted from his eyes and they ran, free as a waterfall down his cheeks “You are…you always…have been.” Head dropped, hair draping into his face, Kili openly sobbed.

Thorin jerked like he’d been struck.

In everything except blood and title though Kili had never called him such, out of respect for his biological sire, Kalin, Thorin was. Whether he needed a comforting hand, a stern guidance, a gentle advisor or on occasions when he was able, a fun playmate, Thorin had always been there. It was a constant, a strong constant, through his young life and it was one that he could not fathom losing.

He could not lose it. He would not.

Energy spent, the young one’s shoulders slumped and he fell partially forward, resting his forehead on his stunned elder’s chest. “I…I cannot…it hurts too much, Uncle. I can’t…lose you.” His body shook with repressed emotion and he whimpered, a very young, heartbroken sound. “Everything else…I can take anything else. But I don’t want to lose you. Don’t make me lose you. Please…”

When the strong arms wrapped around him, he didn’t try to stop his tears that time.


	3. Chapter 3

Root to tip, root to tip.

Over and over, the gentle stroking kept going. It was a sign of earlier times, of more carefree days and the strength in those fingers as it threaded his hair forced the choking sobs in his throat to gradually slow. He tried to focus on that. The gentle motions, from scalp to tip. As he always had, Thorin would gently massage the scalp, for a moment or two before he would run his fingers down the brown hair. He would linger on the ends, letting Kili relax in the sensation. It had worked when Kili was a child and it still worked now, anchoring him to reality.

Hair was vital to dwarves and it was in no small part due to them possessing some minor nerves within it, with the most sensitive being near the tips, hence why lingering on the ends provided such comfort. Far as they knew, they were the only race with such an evolution. Why the Maker opted to include such a trait was up for debate but the overall consensus was that it helped them to know the air and stone within the mountain halls. Touch was vital to them; it ruled most of their lives. While elves depended on sight and hearing, hobbits on smell and men having a dulled sense of all five, it was touch that let the dwarves know stone.

As such, touch worked its magic here. There really was not a Westron equivalent for what it meant to stroke and linger in another’s hair save to know it was full of affection. Not quite as strong as an embrace but a different kind of love all the same. It calmed hearts of fear, soothed pain and reestablished that connection that was essential between all dwarves, especially within families. It was their root to life, their families. That anchor had not dulled for Kili and when his uncle cast that anchor out, well, the young dwarf lunged for it like it was a savior in the ocean.

Kili lost himself in it. He lost himself in the closeness, in the smell, in the warmth of his uncle’s arms. He was here. He was here and not lying limp and cold on the hard rock of Carrock, bleeding life all about him. He was alive.

Alive.

Digging his fingers into his uncle’s chest, clutching to the furs and leather, he tried to calm his racing heart but it was difficult. He much preferred being angry to this terror. Now that his anger had started to cool, the fear that powered it had come to the surface. That was a thousand times worse because he could see all the things that might have happened. He saw his uncle bleeding out. He saw the pools of blood spreading like water, staining all those furs and leathers as the White Orc laughed hysterically. He saw those wargs ripping into his uncle’s body like he was trash. He saw that blade come down, cleave, cut, snap…

“Calm.”

Thorin’s deep voice always carried authority with it but this command was given in gentleness. As he spoke, the Dwarf Leader set his hands back up to the boy’s scalp, letting his fingertips massage gently at the roots of the hair before slowly sliding down the strands again. “Calm, Kili.” He let his fingertips rest on the ends of the boy’s wild hair and gently rubbed them back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. “Calm.” With each word he said, Thorin felt like a piece of his older self returned. This position, comforting an upset Kili, was one he had been in several times and it was a bit like greeting an old friend, recognizing the needs without realization.

Opening his eyes against the warmth of his uncle’s furs, the younger one turned to the side, slightly, letting his temple rest in that broad chest. The gentle up and down with each breath Thorin took because a hypnotic soothing, the strong and steady thump-thump-thump of the dwarf’s heart pulsing from the leader’s torso and through Kili’s cheeks eased his sharp breaths. The deep timber of his uncle’s voice was a pacifying balm as was the soft sensation of his uncle’s fingers in his hair. It was a reminder, against all those horrible what-ifs that such a fate had not occurred, it had not happened. He was standing here, before him, without death wounds. He was not torn apart, he was not devoured, he was not…

Shifting his head upward, he locked eyes with his elder, reaching up to rub at his wet eyes but Thorin laid a simple hand on his wrist and shook his head.

“No.” He said softly. “These tears are not shameful and you will not treat them as such.”

Nodding simply, Kili stayed silent.

“You are wiser than you are given credit for, Kili,” Thorin admitted, with a small smile to his eyes. “You are also so like your mother that it is quite a shock sometimes for me.”

Allowing a faint smile, despite his tears, at the comparison (for Lady Dis was surely the strongest female of their race, naturally!) Kili nodded “You always said I was my mother’s son.” He remembered that. Fili was always called his ‘father’s son’ whereas Kili had been called his ‘mother’s son.’ As both of them grew, their mother had taken to reminding them that they were _stubborn as if your uncle had sired you, the both of you!_ He accepted the compliment and lingered on the touch to his hair, as his uncle had yet to remove his fingertips from the ends.

“Aye, you are. Fitting.” Thorin remarked, stating, “Your mother was always the one talking sense into your Uncle Frerin and I. Or attempting to in any event. It makes sense that she would pass it onto you.” He didn’t say as much but Kili may have sounded like Dis but he looked like Frerin. So full of energy and spirit that it almost burned like a fire. Right down to the wild hair that never could be restrained very well in braids, much as he often tried and his older brother attempted to contain them. The same passion that Kili had embodied in every word of his speech reprimand at Thorin, the dwarf king had grown up watching that beautiful fire only for it to be snuffed out before the gates of Moria. “Make no mistake, Kili…you are right.”

Shock took Kili’s heart. His uncle, prideful as all dwarves were, never liked admitting when he was wrong, even when it was blatantly obvious. Blinking at his uncle, “You…you’re not mad at me?” He dared to ask. For as much as he had meant every word he said in that emotional explosion, he also well knew that the way he had phrased it had not been the best. Politics had never been Kili’s strong point. Fili would often joke that while Kili would have the kingdom’s best interests at heart, his ability to communicate them without offending someone was near non-existent. To which Thorin had always laughed around his pipe and remarked that it was for that reason that they were strongest together.

Now, while there was not a laugh in his uncle’s eyes, there was that old familiar warmth, “I was, at first, I will admit. You know better than anyone that my temper will flare easily as flame to hair.”

Kili nodded. Growing up, as much as Thorin would try to maintain his cool and often succeeded at doing so, that did not mean that he or Fili had not been on the receiving end of one of his rants or emotional explosions from time to time (perhaps that was where he had learned it?) Yet, even when that happened, Kili only ever remembered being sad, being disappointed but never frightened. He may have not liked it when his uncle became so incensed but it never awoke fear in his heart. “I…I did not mean to raise your ire, Uncle. I just…” His voice caught again and he cleared his throat, rather noticeably “I can’t…if Fili and I were to lose you, Uncle…I…” He fought the images in his mind but simply saying it made all the what-ifs arise again. He could still see the stains of red on his leader’s clothes and oh, Mahal, were those tears in the leather from the warg’s teeth…?

“Kili.” Thorin stopped him in mid explanation and after a moment, the Dwarf king wrapped one of his own braids around his fingers and reached over, laying them over the wet tears and catching the few new ones that were leaking from the boy’s eyes. Rather than casting them away, wiping them aside, he let the hair absorb it before moving to the next drop. It had been a long time since he had utilized such a gesture; it was quite rare for male dwarves in particular to use it as it was mostly mothers tending to their tiniest of ones that fell into the habit and even that was not routine. Closest likeness Thorin had seen among Men had been kissing the tears of the child away and he’d never seen a male of the race of Men do such a thing, only the women. Though, the Dwarf King certainly had no love lost for the race in general. “I am here, be calm.”

If Thorin’s memory served him right, Kili must have been merely up to his waist in height the last time he’d let his hair cool the tears. Throwing open the doors to his meeting chamber, where Thorin had been conversing with some of the other dwarven leaders, the tiny boy had rushed in, tears blurring his vision as he gasped and sobbed over “not bein’ ‘orthy of the line of Durin!” because of some cruel, petty individuals. Thorin had scooped the lad up into his lap and quickly set about absorbing those tears, the rest of the room seemingly falling into shadow. Though Thorin had never told the boy as such, that simple gesture had earned him the boundless loyalty of many a dwarf family line. Every leader had to have priorities and in that simple moment, by immediately seeking to dry his little one’s tears and see what had troubled his heart, the Dwarven clans had no doubt that their exiled King knew all too well what was really important.

His sister-son responded just as he hoped he would though, closing his eyes and savoring in the closeness. The boy’s breath steadied but Thorin didn’t like the erratic nature of that steadiness. As before, when he was stroking his hair, the boy would calm then become anxious once more before calming again. It was a cycle, back and forth, despite the Dwarf King’s efforts. His sister son was not anchoring as he had hoped. He was trying but…the boy wasn’t anchoring. Thorin’s heart ached. _Why? Why, little one? I am here…_

Kili couldn’t imagine what his uncle was thinking of him right now. Tears…he’d tried so hard to stay stoic and strong, as heirs of Erebor were expected to be. Yet, here he was, sobbing like a little dwarfling who had fallen and skinned his knee. Never mind that what haunted his heart was a thousand times worse than any physical injury. Never mind that he had never actually been in a real battle before this adventure. Never mind that his uncle should never look so helpless or bloodied or defeated. He was their King, he was a warrior, he was the great hero of Azanulbizar! “You’re not supposed to ever look like that” Kili found himself muttering, even as he tried to re-establish himself in the present. Every time he thought he was settled, that the horrors of the previous clash with Azog were washed to the past to remain, something brought them back up again and he thought he was going to drown in the memory. “You’re not supposed to look like that. Ever. You’re not supposed to…” It was like he was back there again, seeing his uncle killed in front of him “Not ever, ever, ever…”

Thorin pulled his nephew close, wrapped his arms around him tight again. He’d seen this reaction before. Having lived through the Fall of Erebor, survived as they made their way through the mountains, attempted to take back Moria, and numerous orc, goblin and trolls assaults in-between, the Dwarf Leader had seen his share of horror. This reaction, while rare among dwarves, did happen. Should he really have been surprised though? Kili and Fili, while easily some of his finest soldiers, were barely of age and this was their first encounter with anything outside of wolves or an occasional scuffle. Was it so unexpected to see Kili’s heart so lost? He’d seen it before. But to see it on his Kíli...

Kili’s reaction had been delayed but then, Thorin knew all too well that effects that the battle had upon the body. It could take hours for the survival high to fade. Now though, he wanted his sister-son to anchor. He wanted him to remember what was real and what had happened and what had not. Praying his arms would serve as a physical symbol of the emotional bond, Thorin pulled Kili as tight and close as he dared and began the ritual of hair stroking, root to tip, from the beginning.

“Calm.”

* * *

 

**“ < Bring me the Dwarf’s Head. >”**

**Fili shook his head, pushing aside the flaming branches, trying to gather his balance. “No! Thorin, get up, get up!”**

**Smoke stung at his eyes and it was hard to see straight but he could still hear the harsh steps, crunching on the ground as his uncle labored to breathe. Stumbling, the elder heir of Erebor crashed into the ground, the fall knocking quite a few cuts and scraps along his forearms. Ignoring the sting, he was up, running as fast he could, his own pulse deafening in his head. Shouting behind him was like a faint echo. He couldn’t even hear Kili right now, his eyes only on the fallen body of his relative on the ground. The dirt and broken stems had long since turned red from the bleeding wounds that damned warg had left in Thorin’s chest.**

**“Thorin!” Fili shouted again, “Get up! GET UP!”**

**The orcs seemed to be taking great pleasure in his distress, laughing and chortling to themselves in Black Speech. Fili never stopped running and his feet were an endless drum, each beat seeming to just announce he was too far away and too slow.**

**“THORIN! UNCLE!”**

**For a moment, though a brief one, the elder locked eyes with him. Pleading dark eyes upon condemned blue ones. An orc blade against throat.**

**“NO!”**

**Swing.**

**“UNCLE!!”**

**Cut.**

**Blood.**

**Oh, Mahal, so much…so much…blood.**

**Laughing, horrible laughing, as Fili’s legs failed him and he crashed to his face, his arms awash in the fresh blood that left the stump that was his uncle’s neck. It sprayed like some horrific fountain and there was so much of it.**

**“For the young Prince of Erebor.”**

**Azog stood, arm held high, clutching at those braids that Fili had clung to so often in childhood, that had always brought him comfort. There was an ashen, pale look to the face that had always been the demonstration of strength as the Pale Orc opened his hand and the severed head of the Dwarven King fell into his weeping kin’s arms….**

 

Fili awoke with a jolt and nearly a scream, his heart racing and his breath caught. The sudden jerk made him realize he was still seated, against the doorframe. His neck muscles protested the sudden jarring but he couldn’t focus on that pain right now. The visage of his nightmares still played behind his eyes. He could see it, hear it, smell it.

Eyes darting to and fro, he took note that his brother’s bedroll was still empty and Thorin was still gone.

 _They’re fine._ He coached himself. _Your mind is playing games from the battle. Nothing more. Nothing more. Nothing more._

Why weren’t they back though? What if Thorin’s injuries were worse than they looked and when he went after Kili they reopened and now he was bleeding out somewhere not more than a voice call away?

 _You’re being ridiculous,_ he scowled at himself. _Stop it. They’re fine. Thorin’s fine._

So…much…blood.

Shuddering, the blond prince shook his head, violently, as if trying to shake such images from his mind. _It didn’t happen. Thorin’s fine. He’s his grumpy, grouchy, stubborn self but he’s fine. He’s fine, he’s fine, hesfine,hesfinehesfinehesfine…_

Pushing his chair aside, Fili left the house, silent as shadow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, this chapter in particular gave me trouble. The next few chapters should not take nearly this long.

Under normal circumstances, Beorn’s homestead was actually quite pleasant. Fili, like most dwarves, was not a huge fan of large open plains and prairies, preferring the comfort of hard stone and rock but even he had to admit that normally the fields and scattered trees were quite a lovely sight. Right now though, he couldn’t see anything except potential ambush sites, places where orcs or goblins might be lying in wait, places that were out of range of the safety of the company. He couldn’t hear anything pleasant about the night, just foreboding growls, grunts and howls.

Wolves he had dealt with before, as had his brother. Truthfully, despite the dangers they could sometimes bring, both Kili and himself had a fondness for the furry beasts and had tried on more than one occasion to sneak one home. Had it just been Uncle Thorin home at the time, he was pretty sure they would have succeeded. Despite the harsh dwarf he presented himself as, Fili and Kili had grown up with quite a different dwarf. While hardly what one would call a pushover, Uncle Thorin could certainly be persuaded. Kili, being younger, one would think could win him over easily and while Kili had a talent for persuading Thorin on the short term, it was actually Fili who did most of the convincing for a lasting change. Like his uncle had often told him, he had a talent for politics and that included being a very convincing debater on him and his brother’s behalf. He recalled quite vividly preaching about how the small white pup that Kili had stuffed into his bag could be trained for hunting and tracking and after all, had not dwarves utilized wolves as companion beasts before, to Thorin’s small growing smile.

Mother’s sudden return home had destroyed his fine work. Her huffing and shouting had led to only one conclusion and Kili had set the pup loose with an indignant cry of “But Uncle almost said yes!”

Thorin never confirmed or denied that accusation but the way he had smiled at Fili later and commented that he could “sell a sword to a handless warrior” had been telling enough to fill his chest with pride.

Kili even being allowed on this journey was due in no small part to him convincing his uncle of the skills and desire of the youngest Durin. Kili, while indeed full of spirit, had never been very good at conveying what benefits his energy, skill and enthusiasm could do and it had always ended up sounding like begging. Fili would always manage to translate that into something that would win over Thorin’s protective nature. The older prince knew that while Thorin was quite proud of both of them, despite their less than stellar performance (in Fili’s mind at any rate) on this adventure, he still could not dismiss years of bonding and that any attempts to draw them away from danger were the uncle trying to push through the king.

He knew it but that didn’t make it easier.

_And what would either of them think of you now?_ He argued at himself. _The King would think you foolish and the Uncle would say you were paranoid and worried too much._

Shaking his head back and forth, he glanced back towards the small home of Beorn. Truly, this was ridiculous. He had seen Gandalf heal his Uncle, seen Thorin awake, though slowly and rise to his feet. He had seen him even give their burglar one of his rare but strong embraces. Thorin was well known for using other means to express emotion—gently clamping the shoulder, a nudge with the side of his head, a smile, a back slap. His hugs were to be cherished and you never forgot them. When he and Kili were younger, they used to love getting lost in them, burying their faces into his furs. On a special occasion, their uncle might even indulge them with a dwarven kiss, a gentle touch to the forehead with his own. Fili could count on one hand the number of times he had received that: when he had broken his leg while doing a foolish dare as a child and ended up trapped in a small pit before they could extract him, when he’d been very ill as a child, and when he’d received a harsh injury during training, a deep slash across the belly. Physical affection outside of family was so rare for Thorin. If he had bothered to do so then—

_See?_ His inner voice snarled again as he made his way across the field. _See? Something’s wrong. Your Uncle is still hurt, he’s still injured. He’s probably bleeding and not telling anyone and when he finally collapses, Kili won’t know what to do and he’ll bleed out and die._

Okay, no, this was getting ridiculous. Shaking his head, slamming the heel of his hand into his temple, as if that would chase out the thoughts, Fili paused, again. He scolded himself. He was giving into ridiculous fears that had no basis in reality. He was meant to be a leader, a king one day. A king did not give into fear. A king would not be interfering when something was already handled. Thorin and Kili would settle the issues and return before long. Much as Thorin was hard headed and stubborn, his little brother had inherited that same fire and he could work through whatever emotions had finally sprung out of his heart. He was only going to be making things worse by barging into things as he was. The best course of action was to turn around and try to get some sleep before the night slipped away entirely.

Yes, yes, that was what a reasonable leader would do.

Pushing aside the few branches and maneuvering through the speckle of trees throughout the fields, it occurred to him, briefly, that his mind’s rationalizations were being utterly ignored by his body. He pressed onward as if propelled by an inner force that simply would not relent. He argued against it, pushing every type of reason he could muster but that dream, that vision of his uncle lying limp in the eagle’s talons, that pool of blood caking the furs and ground, he couldn’t force that from his mind. He was suddenly wishing for a large mug of ale to force such thoughts from his mind but given he was out here and his heart seemed content to push onward despite his protests, he reluctantly caved.

He heard the whispered Khuzdul after a moment. Soft spoken and whispered but not out of shame. No, this was the tone he had not heard for years. He had never forgotten it though.

It was always spoken softly as it was meant only for one person. It was meant to be a private moment, one that was to be treasured and honored. It was rare for Uncle Thorin to engage in sweet nothings exchanged but it did happen. There were those, some in their Company, no doubt who would have laughed at such a concept. After all, Thorin was a warrior, a king and a leader. Typically, whisperings of heart-feelings were reserved for mothers to their young ones but Fili had grown up with his uncle’s stern but gentle voice in his ear. He knew not to speak of it openly, as the appearance of a stoic leader was important but there was never any doubt that his uncle’s love equally matched his mother’s in passion.

All the same, to hear it now, his eyes watered slightly at it.

Following it, he kept his steps soft and quiet but his elder still heard him. It would have been a shock to him if he had not. While Thorin’s eyes were not as strong as they had once been, which was something he and Kili tried to compensate for without stating that was what they were doing, his other senses were sharp as ever. He had grown into one of their best fighters for a reason and one of those reasons was his near god-like ability to know his surroundings. When Fili had been little, he remembered asking his uncle several times how he accomplished it and Thorin had only ever told him that life was the best trainer one could have.

There’d been such darkness in his eyes that the young prince had never asked again.

Now, rounding the corner of a large tree, he found what he had been seeking.

Sitting on the ground, Thorin had Kili nearly curled into his lap he was pressed so close and was stroking his hair, root to tip, whispering softly to him in Khuzdul. Kili’s eyes were wet but he wasn’t openly crying, at least not anymore. Fili could see the remains of the tear rivers on his face but he said nothing of it. Setting his sights on his uncle, he tried once more to convince his racing heart and all-together-too-active imagination that their fears had been for naught. After all, wasn’t his uncle sitting there on the ground in front of him with nary a problem in sight? Not even any strain visible on his face. No blood, no sweat, nothing. He was fine. He was fine.

He’s fine…

“Fili.”

Head lifted at his uncle’s firm call, he met the blue eyes of their family patriarch for a moment.

All those thoughts, those rationalizations died away and he swore he saw it all again: the fire, the sword swipe, the attack by the warg, the threat to take his uncle’s head, all flashing before his eyes even as he stared into the very alive gaze of Thorin, sitting not even five feet away. They would not fade. They would not go away. Why were they not going away? He had killed in battle before and it had not hurt him this badly. He had wept and found himself shaking for a day or so but not like this. At least then, all he saw when he closed his eyes was what had happened. None of this things that had never happened nonsense replaying over and over like a sick theater performance.

“Fili. Come.”

Thorin set a hand on the patch of ground on his other side. “Come,” he said again.

Fili battled it within himself. He should not come. He should say that he did not mean to intrude and merely was checking on them. He should say that if they wished to return, their bedrolls were already laid out and a guard rotation established. He should say that he was merely keeping an eye on Kili and that…

Slumping against the nearby tree, Fili slid his boots into the dirt and slowly lowered to the ground on his uncle’s free side. He didn’t look at him. Much as he wanted to, much as he wanted to see, to reassure himself, yet again, that there was no blood flowing off his uncle’s face, that his uncle’s head was still firmly attached, that the teeth of that warg had not torn his ribs apart…he didn’t trust himself to look. If he did so now, when they were not separated by distance, when he was within arms’ reach, when he could feel the warmth of the dwarf who had been with him since the day he was born…

He wasn’t sure he could maintain the dignity of an heir.

* * *

 

He felt like kicking himself.

He should have seen it. He should have seen the tenseness in Kili and the distance in Fili.

He should have heard the fear in Fili’s tone and the horror in Kili’s false laugh.

It was clear as day now that he had one of them on either side of him. The tears in Kili’s eyes cut his heart and the unspoken fears in Fili’s made him sick to his stomach. When had they stopped coming to him? When they were little, you could always find them, lingering around his legs. Had he distanced them so much on this quest that they could not come to him with their worries? He knew that both of them fretted far too much over what he thought of them, of how he appraised their skills. Kili would not want to worry him and Fili would put everyone else before himself, no matter what the damage to himself.

He should have expected as much. Fili was loyal, a type of loyalty that was hard to find and the kind that never faltered. As soon as Kili had snapped, he should have been calling to Fili to come with them because if Kili was snapping, then Fili was containing. It was a pattern as familiar as the sound of the lads’ voices and yet he had not seen it. He had been completely blind to it. Thorin did not feel bad about his decisions very often, as you couldn’t be second-guessing yourself as either a leader, a king or a warrior but he certainly felt the regret of THIS oversight.

Fili still hadn’t looked up at him.

Shifting slightly and moving his hand free, Thorin reached out and gently laid his hand into his eldest sister-son’s golden locks, gently rubbing them, as he had to the younger one. “Fili, look at me.”

No words but a slight shake from side to side.

Thorin could count on one hand the times that Fili had refused to obey him. Even as a child, he was so obedient at times that it was frightening. The exiled king distinctly recalled, more than once, telling the boy to ‘get in trouble, Mahal’s sake!’ Kili would naturally convince his sibling to take advantage of that and Thorin was never sure if he should praise or curse the mischief that followed. He tended to do both.

On this quest however, aside from the incident with the ponies, which he’d contributed to the simple impatience and boredom of youth more than anything, both his sister-sons had been strikingly mature, all things considered. They had a lot to learn but they had grown up knowing of the importance, the integrity of this mission. He had told a great many stories to them, a great many tales and songs. When the time had come, when the realization that they could reclaim their homeland was here, neither of them had been expected to come but they had both met him nearly with their bags already packed. They had yet to fail him since they left the Blue Mountains.

It appeared, however, that he had failed them. Perhaps not as a leader or a king but as family, as an uncle.

Had they been in the Blue Mountains, he would have seen it, heard it, felt it the moment they entered the room that the something was amiss. He and Dis were both experts at it. Now that he was not consumed with rage, with vengeance boiling his blood, it was like he had not noticed a bleeding gash down Fili’s face. It was as if he had not noticed an infected wound in Kili’s gut.

He had bound Kili’s and while there was much left to be done, Fili needed him more right now.

He tightened his massage on the boy’s head, while still keeping his other hand in Kili’s (a technique mastered by years of practice encouraging frightened lads to dreams) and said softly.

“Look at me.”

Grasping his nephew under the chin, he forced his head to turn, forced their eyes to meet and he intoned, in a gentle tone that he had been neglect to use for several years, “I know you hurt, do not lie to me. I will not have you suffer needlessly. Talk to me.”

“I…Uncle, I am…” He began but it fell like ash in his mouth. Ash and fire. Blood and sweat. That battle, that laugh from that orc, that blade…

“Fili,” Thorin hardened his tone, just a bit. His eldest nephew, by virtue of being the one burdened with responsibility, had always been harder to crack but if he did not, Thorin did not like the possibilities. The wildness he saw in Fili’s eyes was barely contained. Just as Kili’s had erupted in tears and shakes and screams, Fili’s could not endure forever. Taking an inhale himself, he cast the King and Leader aside and was left with only Uncle Thorin. Leaning forward but not quite touching foreheads, he moved his hand from the chin to the hair again, brushing the braids back and saying, “Talk to me, _targ mim_.”

Fili cracked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:
> 
> targ mim--"Little Beard" could be translated also as "Beardling"


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long. Life has not been simple this month. Only one more chapter to go and it's half done. Should be up this week!

Fili couldn’t not respond.

That name…that damned nickname.

How old had he been when his uncle had last called him that? It had been when he had still been using a sparring sword, surely. Yes, it must have been. It was before he had graduated to a true sparring session, back when his little brother had sat on the sidelines, watching and cheering whenever he made a good move, not realizing that Mister Dwalin was not even breaking a sweat. As encouraging as it was to have your own personal cheering section, Fili had found it distracting as well. He had let his head swell for it. Thought he was hot stuff until his Uncle decided to make a point and had landed him on his back in less than a minute.

Yes, that was the last time he had heard that nickname. His uncle had offered him a hand up after a moment and told him to ‘mind your arrogance, targ mim.’ As weird as it might have been, that nickname, combined with being floored like an amateur had torn havoc on his pride. With a scowl truly worthy of the Durin line, he had pushed his Uncle’s hand away and declared ‘I can get up on my own, Uncle. And don’t call me that! I’m not a baby.’ Thinking back on it years later, he could recall a small glimmer of pain in his elder’s eyes but Thorin, as was his way, had obliged the request.

It had not taken long after for Kili to insist that Thorin not use any nicknames with him either. As it had always been with Kili. Whatever Fili did, his little brother was quick to follow.

Now, one might not think that to be such a big deal. However, while Thorin would rarely use nicknames among the people of Ered Luin, within the privacy of their halls with their mother, it was an entirely different story. This mother had never been shy about bestowing physical affection on them but such things had never come easy for Thorin. Dis had explained to Fili once, when he had asked, that it all centered on the fact that being the heir to the throne meant you had to keep up appearances more than your siblings. While Dis and Frerin had grown used to hugs and strokes to the head from their father, Prince Thrain had never done much of it with Thorin. Not out of lack of love but because of the necessity and importance of their status. So, it was not out of lack of love that their uncle did not bestow them with the same hugs that their mother did.

Fili, upon receiving this information, had taken it upon himself to ‘teach’ their uncle how to be more comfortable with physical signs of affection. He would nearly throttle the dwarf’s leg and when he grew tall enough, he would throw his arms about the elder’s neck and squeeze as tight as he could. Thorin grew accustomed to it and when Kili began to mimic his older brother, the old warrior dwarf even found himself looking forward to their hugs and hair pulling and grins. He struggled so with returning them but he tried. It took years but eventually, at least within the privacy of their own home, the exiled king would rejoice in the sharing of hugs and close embraces, though such were still rare as golden ore. As he was learning, ever so slowly, he desired to show his sister-sons that he truly did care for them, though he struggled to show it.

His affection came in the form of names.

Dis came to tease that if the boys had been much younger, they would have thought themselves to be blessed with multiple names like the legends of old. Upon Fili, Thorin would bestow ‘little king’ ‘golden fighter’ ‘fierce little boar’ ‘mighty little pebble’ and ‘beardling’ which was the favorite. Kili was just as receptive to the names of the heart, finding himself to be known as ‘little prince’ ‘quick little snake’ ‘little rabbit’ ‘tiny gem’ and ‘my little raven’ which was one Thorin used most often. Eventually, Thorin was even comfortable enough with some of the names to use them around Dwalin.

Until Fili had asked him to stop.

Maybe those memories, those regrets, were what made Fili’s mind freeze as he stared at his uncle. Memories of a simpler time, when he would finish training with a frustrated blush to his cheeks, tears in his eyes and Thorin would give him a gentle smile and stroke his hair. So many memories. Thorin had been a solid fixture in his life, even before the untimely death of his father. Before Kili had been born, his memories were murky, being as young as he was but he still remembered Thorin always being there. He could not remember any specifics but he knew the feeling of security that was Thorin. It was solid as the foundation of the mountains.

Yet this Azog…he’d nearly taken that away.

“He was going to kill you.” Fili’s voice didn’t really sound like his own, at least according to his ears. He was supposed to be strong, firm and noble, all the things that his uncle had taught him. Instead, it felt broken, quivering. It was as if all his years of practice and training had been stripped away and he was once again a young boy on his first sparring session, petrified of what was to come. “He was going to kill you.” Fili didn’t think he could say much else but it was only proper that he should try. His uncle’s blue eyes were serving as the only thing real right now. “He was going to kill you and I did nothing.”

That was perhaps the worst part of it. By all accounts, he should have been rushing Azog before Thorin ever fell. He should have been charging forward, swords drawn and singing for blood.

He hadn’t.

“I just stood there, like stupid, frightened child.” Hands fisted into the fabric of his pants, Fili turned his eyes away, though his uncle’s hand still stayed firm on his chin. “I should have charged, I should have rushed him without another moment’s delay. I should have been threatening to take HIS head, not him to yours!”

“Fili—“

“I have no excuse,” The young prince continued without pause, though he kept his eyes diverted away. “You trained me to be strong, to be brave. We were supposed to be fighting by your side, not hiding like a bunch of frightened children.” Bring me the dwarf’s head, that’s what that accursed orc had said and he had only felt raw fear and ice coldness in his veins. He should have been on fire with rage, he should have been a blazing fury of sword, knife and fist. “I failed. I failed you, I failed the company, I failed my brother. I failed our line.”

“Nonsense.” Thorin’s tone was gentle but sharp. “Look at me, Fili.”

Reluctantly, he obeyed. “I know you wanted revenge, Uncle. I also know you were trying to buy us time.” He shook his head “I should have…”

“He was being an idiot.” Kili cut in, from his slumped form next to Thorin’s side. “He never shoulda run after the stupid orc. Not then. He coulda been killed. We just had to wait…”

“Wait for what, Kili?” The golden haired prince had the appearance of formality, calmness but the tremor of his voice gave it away, as did the shaking of his shoulders when he spoke. “Yes, Gandalf summoned the Eagles but unless you were keeping secrets from me…did we know that then?” He certainly had not. “Did we know then that Gandalf had a way for us to get away?”

Kili froze, paused, considered. Truthfully, so much had happened at once, so much panic and fear, that he really had a hard time what order it even occurred in. It seemed to all flow together like a mash of emotion. “I…” When HAD he realized Gandalf had summoned the Eagles? It must have been before but yet, he could only remember horror at what his uncle had been doing. He really didn’t remember much else, he wasn’t really sure there had BEEN anything else. Just pain, fear, loneliness, anguish, guilt but mostly fear, terror.

“Uncle was trying to give us a chance!” Fili cried in protest. He felt like his nerves were on hair trigger. He knew that his uncle was prideful but he also knew that the dwarf never would have charged alone without a reason. He had been trying to give them a fighting chance, though Mahal as his witness, he should have ignored it and charged after him. He should have! He should have charged or sent Kili away or screamed in protest or something. Something. That was the root of it. He should have done SOMETHING!

“A chance for what? Where was there to go?! He coulda died and we would have still been stuck in those trees and then everyone woulda died and if we’re going to die, I want us to die together—“ Kili’s tone was breaking, choking up.

“Enough!” Thorin’s voice rang sharp, strong and loud enough for the few birds to scramble away. “ _Itkitî!_ _”_

Fili went quiet.

Kili dropped his head and leaned into his uncle’s grip again.

“Both of you. I want you to heed me well. I will not deny that I made mistakes. I have in the past and I shall in the future, just as you have and just as you will.” He eyed Kili. “I was acting more emotional than rational when I charged Azog even if I had the intentions that your brother said.” Shifting his gaze to Fili, he stated, “You’re a smart lad. So, that should make this simple…you did nothing wrong—“

“Because I did nothing.” Fili interrupted.

“Listen.” Thorin spoke firmly. “I do not blame you for any of this. Freezing as you did…I did the same in my first battle.”

“But this wasn’t my first.” The Prince of Erebor protested. “We’d been fighting before and I never froze, not like that. Yet, when it came to the most important battle, I was utterly useless.” Fili’s face flushed in frustration. “I should have acted. You and Dwalin trained me to respond and I failed.” Wind lost from his sails, he slumped and this time he accepted the embrace of his elder as he pulled him tight into his side. “I failed.”

“Nay.” Thorin insisted again. “Seeing someone you love in danger, seeing someone you care about walking to a horrific opponent, an opponent that has only been fed by nighttime tales and legends, the heart will freeze, it does not know what to do and if the mind cannot be guided by the heart, we will go still as shadow.” He eyed his heir intensely. “I should have thought about how you two would react. That was my error.” It was a rare thing to hear an apology or admission of wrong-doing from Thorin Oakenshield but the older dwarf could not see anything other way to describe such things. If he was intent on attacking Azog, he should have told Dwalin to avert his sister-sons’ attention, to usher them towards safety. Something. “What is done is done and I shall hear no more cursing of yourself on the matter. Am I clear?”

Fili set eyes upon his uncle and he saw nothing but compassion in sight. There was no anger or disappointment and yet his heart was not settled. As he lay his head against his uncle’s shsoulder again, he found his thoughts drifting back and all he could hear was ‘bring me the dwarf’s head’ over and over. The scent of his uncle was helping and when Thorin’s free hand settled into his own hair, all his energy shifted to focus on that. The familiar stroke and feel of those thick calloused fingers was settling, at least somewhat. He did not feel like he was drifting in the pain of the previous night any longer. While hardly what he wanted to feel (he wanted all this pain and fear to wash away) it was settling his shaking body.

“The battle still haunts your sight behind your eyes.”

Thorin’s inquiry was more a statement than a question and Fili nodded slightly against the shoulder of his elder. “I have tried not to linger on it. Like you’ve taught me. We only seek out lessons in our battles because to dwell on them will drive us mad.” Squezzing his eyes tightly shut, the Prince confessed “But the sight will not go away. The chants will not go away.” He accepted the tight grip on his hand from Kili though his younger brother stayed silent. “I am far too old to be fearful of sleep and yet I am. I see it…hear it when I am awake so what shall I drift into if I go into sleep?”

A heavy sigh left Thorin’s chest and the Dwarf King asked, soft as a whisper of wind, “Do you think my dreams are not haunted? Do you think that I, having seen more battles than days of life you lay claim to, am never fearful of the images that night will paint?”

Fili went quiet. “No. But you never fall under their weight.”

For a moment, Thorin was quiet then said “Because I have two sister-sons and a sister that help me to hold the load.” Digging his fingers into the blond braids, Thorin gently rubbed the tresses, saying “I have learned over time to harbor the pains but they are still there.” He considered, thinking a long moment then asked “Kili has told me the pains that lay on his heart. Tell me what thoughts plague you.” He gave Kili a soft half smile and the younger dwarf may or may not have nuzzled a little closer into his uncle’s chest though his tongue kept still.

“You bleeding.” Fili convinced his tongue to cooperate. “You bleeding out and I can only stand and watch. You losing your head to that…that…” he murmured an unpleasant term in Khuzdul, “and he gloats over it.” Fili shifted, suddenly uncomfortable looked up into his uncle’s eyes. “You were bleeding. I’ve never seen you bleed like that, Uncle. I…I’m no fool. I know battles and wounds and gashes and cuts bring blood but I’ve never seen it like that. And you did not answer me or Kili when we called to you. You looked gone in that eagle’s talon. Like…like you had already passed to Mahal’s presence.”

Fili shuddered, wrapped his arms tight about his shoulders to try and stay their trembling. “I cannot take that image away. Even after you and Kili left, all I could see and think of was that you were bleeding out somewhere and I was just sitting here, letting it happen. I know Gandalf healed you but…but I keep wondering if it was wrong, if it was complete, if I am going to wake up and find you gone.” Tears in his eyes that he refused to let fall, the golden haired boy (for he truly was still more boy than adult) “Heir to you I may be but I have no desire to utilize that role until you are too old to move and your beard trails the floor with silver.”

Kili nodded in agreement with his brother though he said nothing.

The elder heir clarified “That is what I see, Thorin…Uncle. You dying, over and over from wounds that will not stop bleeding.”

OOO

Thorin held the silence of the world for a long time after Fili’s confession. It rang of reflections of Kili’s. Fear for him, fear for his life. He should not have been surprised. His little ones, they had always been the most loyal of dwarves even before they could lift a sparring sword. Fili had shown no fear as a youngling, shouting curses at any that would speak ill against him. The fear of losing him, Thorin was both touched and troubled by it. He saw the fear that kept his eldest heir adrift and much as he longed to anchor him, he could not take away the facts of a conflict.

It was the way of battle but he knew all too well the horror of finding a loved one with the blood drained from them and their eyes empty. The look on Frerin’s face would never truly leave his memory. The idea of his sister-sons, his Fili and his Kili, having a similar image forged into their minds turned his stomach. He would not wish such a fate on his worst enemy, let along the two dwarves who had laid a claim to his heart a long time ago with childish grins and giggles of youth. He still saw those faces, youthful and innocent, reflected in these strong fighters who sat by his side.

He admitted that he had faint memories of the end of the conflict with Azog and awaking with Gandalf and the Eagles. Hearing the account, from both his sister-sons, only painted a clear picture of how horrific he must have appeared. He knew his nephews had an idolizing view of him and that while many things had served to rationalize it, this was a horrific blow to them. He was strong and had always served as their protector, staking such a claim on his dying breath. It was a blow to the spirit to have that image shattered, even if it was inevitable.

Now, the wounds he had suffered haunted their minds. Fili, like his brother, would not anchor and his heart drifted.

Frowning, jaw clenched tight in thought, the Dwarf King very suddenly pushed his sister-sons away.

Kili blinked “Uncle?”

Thorin gave him no reply. He simply cast aside his large coat, tossing it to the ground. He wrestled with the leather and chainmail, slipping it off down to the dark navy undershirt. Without another word as explanation, he unbound the ties that held the tunic shut and shrugged it off, baring his chest.

There were scars and there would be for some time but they were closed.

Reaching out, Thorin took Fili’s hand in one of his and Kili’s in the other. “We are creatures of touch, as Mahal as deemed us. So, dear sister-sons, touch and anchor your hearts that I am injured but whole. I shall not be bleeding out on you this eve nor any coming hereafter.”

It may have appeared odd to any other race but among the people of Mahal, it was utterly understandable.

Fili let his fingers brush over the bite marks from the warg and while it was jagged and coarse, it was closed. It was sealed. There was dried blood and it was fresh but it was dried. It was clotted and bound and the remaining life blood in his uncle would continue to circulate as it should and not spill out onto the broken ground. He would not leave.

The images in his mind became just that---images.

Kili’s hands trembled, fearful of causing pain as they caressed over the crusted gashes. It was another thing entirely to see and feel them up close. They would scar, he could sense it through his fingertips. It would always be a dip in flesh, a change in tone. But the skin was stitched and whole once more. It would not break apart to cast his uncle into Mahal’s domain.

The fear that pumped in his veins ran cold then eased and dissipated.

The hearts of the two heirs to Erebor slowed, calmed, as they took in wound after wound, satisfying their minds that yes, as horrible as the bleeding and as gruesome as the attack had been, it was over and done and their uncle was whole. He was sitting before them, with a beating heart and thumping lungs.

Thorin gave them a moment then took each of their hands and lay it over his chest, above his heart. “Are you satisfied that I am well?”

With the reassuring pump against their fingertips, first a golden head then a dark haired one, nodded. “Yes, Uncle.”

“Good.” Leaning forward, Thorin lay a hand behind each of their heads and gently brushed foreheads with them each in turn “ _Targ mim,_ _kurkarukê._ I am not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul Translations:
> 
> itkitî —Be silent!(plural)  
> Targ mim-Little Beard/Beardling  
> Kurkarukê--my tiny raven


	6. Chapter 6

Dori looked up when the door opened and the three heirs of Durin slowly made their way back in. While he had a million questions, the soft look on Thorin’s face and the way he had his arms wrapped around the two younger boys stopped any questions dead on his tongue. Curious as he might have been, he understood an unspoken command when he saw it. So, a simple nod at them was all he offered before turning his attention back to his watch. If he gave the two younger princes a half smile as the threesome passed, then no one made comment of it.

As for the three Durin members, they slipped towards the back of the room, away from the rest of their company, though still close enough to be within earshot. The two younger members grabbed their bedrolls up on the way over and flopped down next to their uncle. Thorin shifted and laid down on his own cushions, shrugging off his thick fur coat in the process and remaining slightly propped up against the wall. Fili curled up close on his left side, with Kili mirroring him on the left, each one of them resting their temples on his torso.

Pulling his thick coat up, Thorin draped it over the two of them and relaxed, letting them settle.

“Are you calm now?”

Nodding, Fili remarked, “Thank you, Uncle.”

Kili added, “Sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

Chuckling low in his throat, Thorin stated simply, “It will hardly be the last time you do before your life is spent, my boy. You’re forgiven.” He went quiet and just focused on the gentle sound of the breathing of his two sister-sons. While they did not yet sleep, there was no longer that horrific trembling and agonizing fear seeping off them. That was enough. While he certainly did not want to deal with two slee-deprived nephews come the morn, the relaxing posture in their shoulders was an improvement to be certain.

“The time will come soon, my dear sister-sons,” Thorin’s voice rumbled with affection as evenly as it did with devotion. “When we will fall Azog for the crimes he has cast against our family line. When that time comes, we will face him as one, a united front of Durin’s blood.”

Kili remarked, looking up at his uncle and gently fingering one of the elder’s long braids. “We will be stand by your side, Uncle. We will be with you, always.”

Fili added, adjusting a bit in hopes of alleviating some of the pressure on his uncle’s shoulder. “You have trained us well and we will not forget WHY you have trained us.” He paused, seemed unfair. “All we ask Uncle is that you will not take him on alone. Let us lend you our strength and courage, even if you have no need of it.”

A warm smile, a full smile, covered the warrior’s lips. “I will always have need of it. I just tend to forget it at times.”

The younger of the two surmised, “Well, we won’t let you forget again, Uncle Thorin. We’ll be there when you drive Orcrist through that orc’s filthy neck!”

His older brother chimed in even though his eyes were beginning to cloud with the hints of sleep. “Aye, Uncle. We will make sure he feels its sting to his last moments! It is only proper for what he has done!”

While Thorin did give a nod in agreement to the death of his family’s mortal enemy, the leader of their company shook his head, “No, Orcrist will not end his miserable life.”

Blinking in surprise, both nephews asked, in unison “No, why not?”

Laughing, as he had in younger days, Thorin gently ruffled both their wild manes of hair. “Heed me well, sons of Durin. We go into battle and danger that you may not yet comprehend. The dragon is of utmost concern but my heart is focused on Azog. While Smaug, the wicked worm, has taken our home, Azog has taken those dear to us and with that, pieces of our lives. You should have another uncle to pester and love on and you do not. You should have a grandfather to spoil and pamper you and yet you do not. You should have a great grandfather to give you far too many sweets and you do not. For that, I cannot forgive him and I will not end his life with an elvish blade, no matter how much Gandalf may praise it.”

The Dwarf King reached into his tunic and withdrew a small knife, maybe six inches in length, that he unsheathed and admired. The metal was polished but had been hammered out by inexperienced hands. The fuller ran half the length of the blade and while straight, dipped more in some places than others. The wooden hilt had been treated well but was a bit off center, fashioned by sanding and carving that was not well practiced. If Thorin had held it on his finger, it would have dipped slightly lower on one side than the other, not being completely balanced. All the same though, the single edged knife was razor sharp and it showed in appearance alone. For Thorin though, it was a perfect blade.

Eyes wide, Fili inquired “You still have that thing?”

Kili added “It survived this long?”

“Of course,” Thorin responded. “I have not given it a First Cut.” First Cut among their kind referred to the first time a blade was used, aside from the testing phase that all blades went through. It was an important decision because the spirit of the knife maker was bound in the first cut. Whatever the First Cut was would have all the passion and energy of the makers released upon it. “I told you both when you gifted it to me that I would save its First Cut for something worthy of it. The devotion and love you put into this blade has kept it strong and firm. It is with your passion that I will slit that foul creature’s throat.” Thorin’s voice carried strong and hard. “It is by the line of Durin that he will fall.”

Sheathing the knife, Thorin slipped it back into his tunic.

Both young princes were quiet for a long moment. What could be said against such a thing? They had worked together to make the blade for Thorin when they were only 13 and 9 years of age, respectively. It had taken them three times longer than an adult. It had taken them seven tries to get the blade perfect. It had gotten them restricted to their home for half a year because they insisted on leaving the Blue Mountains to find the perfect earth, silt and sand for clay tempering. Nearly gotten them killed trying to get it and the look of horror when they saw their family again “do you know the worry you plunged into our hearts?” would haunt them much longer than anything else.

To know that Thorin meant to use that simple knife to slay their family’s worst adversary make their hearts fill.

Leaning back, just slightly, the elder dwarf advised, “Dawn will be upon us soon and I won’t have you two with no sleep. Close your eyes and rest.”

Sighing heavily, Fili did as asked, though he did not remove his head from his uncle’s shoulder. Kili was quick to do the same though he curled even closer and tightened his grip on the only paternal figure he had ever known. His heart was settled but he would not reject the closeness of his kin tonight. When Fili did the same, though with a moment delay, he relaxed a little more. As Uncle’s fingers began their old pattern of root to tip, again, he let his breaths grow heavy and shut his eyes. The gentle breaths of his uncle, the rise and fall of his chest was hypnotic.

Thorin watched the two of them a moment. So young, they both were. Probably far too young to be on this journey but he was secretly glad for their presence. As tonight had reminded him though, he had a responsibility to them as well as to his people. It would not do well for him to forget that again. The strength of their family was in its connectedness. Azog had severed so many from their line already that Thorin refused to let anymore follow, least of all these two loyal lads who would likely march into Mordor itself after him.

Swallowing deep at the sudden catch in his throat, Thorin stroked Fili’s braids with one hand while his other busied with Kili’s and his booming voice rang out in familiar rhythm

_“The world was young, the mountains green. No stain yet on the moon was seen…”_

While Misty Mountains had become the cradle song for his two sister-sons, Durin’s Song was always a popular request. His nephews could likely recite it in their sleep and he smiled happily when he saw the effect was still the same. Kili’s grip loosened and his eyes fluttered a bit, even while closed as dreams settled over his mind. Fili turned his head towards his uncle’s voice and let his eyes laze open until the muscles failed to keep them open any longer. His chin dipped into his elder’s chest and sleep took him.

Despite there no longer being any need, Thorin did not stop his song. He kept it soft and low but he could not help but think back with each word. Think of the little ones in his arms, of what he might have lost…

_“Unwearied then were Durin’s Folk. Beneath the mountains music woke. The harpers harped, the minstrels sang and at the gates, the trumpets rang.”_

His memory of Erebor was still strong. He remembered festivals of such dance and music and food that his sister-sons had never had. Feasts that these two dear sister-sons should have had. Songs they should have sung, dances they should have pranced to and laughed and finery they should have worn.

_“The world is grey, the mountains old. The forge’s fire is ashen-cold.”_

How long had it been since Erebor’s forges had seen the ringing of Dwarven hammers? How long had it been since the roaring fires caked faces in soot and warmth?

_“No harp is rung, no hammer falls. The Darkness dwells in Durin’s Halls.”_

Be it Erebor or Khazad-dum, his people wandered. His family wandered. They wandered, as his sweet boys had wandered this night. No comfort, no anchor.

_“A shadow lies upon his tomb. In Moria, in Khazad-dum.”_

The shadow of the Dragon would never leave his mind. Just as the shadow of Azog lifting his grandfather’s head would never leave his mind. Just as the shadow of Frerin’s last breath would never leave his mind. The retreating shadow of his father, the last time he lay sight of him, would never leave his mind.

_“But still the sunken stars appear, in dark and windless Mirrormere.”_

Kili shifted, slightly, and inched a bit closer, throwing his arms around Thorin’s waist, as he had done so many years ago. Fili shifted in response and mirrored him, the faint moonlight catching on his beads and shimmering like small lights. Thorin let his sight drift down to them and he stroked the hair away from young, brave faces. He let himself imagine…these two who had grown with the spirit of Durin in their hearts. He would finally reward their loyalty, their courage would win back their homeland and with that, he would shower them with the finery they deserved. Oh, how they would stand so strong and firm at his side, clothed in the colors of their line and the people would know, as he knew, that Durin’s Line was not easily broken.

_“There lies his crown in water-deep. Til Durin wakes again from sleep.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Itkit--Khuzdul for "Shut up"


End file.
